


The Night of the Golden Goop

by certaintendencies



Series: The Boys Get Jealous [2]
Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: Again, Feels, Jealousy, M/M, Rimming, Semi-established relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23380564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certaintendencies/pseuds/certaintendencies
Summary: It's been a while since the night Jim Got Jealous. They haven't really ironed anything out between them because they're dumb that way. Jim gets a clue. Artie has homemade lube. Things happen.
Relationships: Artemus Gordon/James West
Series: The Boys Get Jealous [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681642
Kudos: 11





	The Night of the Golden Goop

**Author's Note:**

> This follows The Night Jim Got Jealous, set probably a few weeks after, but reading it isn't really necessary.

Jim stepped through the batwing doors of the saloon and had a young woman named Violet on his arm within half a minute. She was engaging and funny and sweet. A decent kisser. Her blue eyes sparkled and her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. Her hair fell in becoming honey-brown curls about her shoulders, and her laugh mingled merrily with the ambient noise of the saloon.

Jim couldn't take his eyes off the stoop-shouldered man sweeping up broken glass in the corner of the saloon.

There was something familiar and compelling about the man's wrists, the way his hands held the broomstick.

Jim excused himself and wandered over to the bar, happening by chance to belly up to it next to where the man was sweeping. Jim nodded to the bartender and angled his body towards the sweeping man.

"Nice night," Jim said after watching the man bend over to pick up the glass.

The man dumped his haul into a bucket and leaned on his broom, cocking one bushy eyebrow at Jim. "Is it?"

Jim frowned at the frost in Artie's voice. "I thought so, yes."

Brown eyes flickered towards Violet, who was sitting in someone else's lap, but gave a pretty wave to Jim when he glanced over.

Jim looked back at Artie, but he was already limping away, hunched back over and carrying his bucket and his broom, back turned to Jim.

Frowning, Jim took the whiskey the bartender set in front of him and stared at the doorway Artie disappeared through.

***

"Everything alright?" Jim asked as Artie entered the barn. He recognized his own voice as uncharacteristically hesitant, but Artie's greeting earlier, or lack thereof, had left him wrong-footed.

Artie headed towards him, spine straightening and hobble lessening with every step, reaching into his shirt to pull out a folded, discolored piece of paper. "As far as I can figure," Artie answered, business as usual. He passed the paper to Jim after unfolding it. "I've been through the saloon and the barbershop and mercantile today, and I can't find any hints of anything unsavory. Anything beyond watering down the rotgut or overcharging for sugar, that is."

Jim studied the map of the town Artie had drawn up, several of the buildings were conveniently crossed out. "I've been through the sheriff's office and the bank since we saw each other."

"So that leaves the church and the schoolhouse," Artie said, sidling up next to Jim and tapping the map contemplatively.

Jim recalled seeing the schoolteacher in the square. She was young, blonde, pretty, and, as of a little while ago, completely unappealing to him.

"I'll take the church," he said, contemplating Artie's profile as Artie contemplated the map, wondering if he knew who the schoolteacher was.

"Well then I suppose it's back to school for me." Artie straightened up and stretched, scrubbing at the back of his neck with one hand. "Although I think I might go as myself. Old Vernon's learned about as much as he's gonna learn, and besides that, my neck's killing me."

"I'll rub it for you," Jim said, and then glanced at their surroundings, the dusty barn coming back into focus. "Later. Maybe."

"Well," Artie said, echoing Jim's assessment of the barn with one bushy eyebrow raised. He turned back to Jim, a puzzled half-smile playing about his mouth. "I'll let you, then. Later." He continued to watch Jim, and Jim let him, taking a moment to sort through what he wanted to ask.

After some reflection, though, it was clear that he didn't really need to ask anything. He figured he knew what had happened before in the saloon. "Artie," he began. "About earlier-"

He was interrupted by a clatter outside the barn, and the sound of someone stumbling drunkenly by.

"Ah, I think-" Artie looked at James.

"Later," they agreed together.

***

Later, after Artie and Jim had discovered, at the same time but in different locations, that it had been the pretty blonde schoolteacher all along, Jim found himself thinking of how quickly he had urged Artie towards the schoolhouse and felt slightly guilty. He felt even guiltier when he thought of how Artie had looked, lip bloodied and generally disheveled, once he'd managed to escape, and how Jim had felt a hot pang of want in his belly at the sight.

Jim had sent Artie on back to the train. Ostensibly, it was to wire Washington with an update, but mostly it was so Artie could get a head start on relaxing. He'd been rubbing at the back of his neck as he'd parted from Jim at the sheriff's office, and Jim had made a mental note not to forget about his promised neck rub. It was the first promise he had made that night, but he didn't plan on it being his last.

Jim was walking purposefully down the wooden sidewalk, headed past the saloon, when he was waylaid by a familiar voice.

"Hey there Handsome,"

Jim stopped his stride and blinked, turning slowly and facing Violet with a tip of his hat. "Good evening."

Violet pushed through the batwing doors and stepped out onto the sidewalk, laughter and music following her faintly. "Where you headed in such a hurry?"

"Ah..." Artie, Jim thought, and cleared his throat. "Home."

"Well it's not going anywhere, is it? Stop in for a while."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Jim told her.

She peered at him in darkness, eyes sharp, and set a hand on her hip. "You know I wouldn't have been so friendly earlier if I'da known you had someone waitin' on you at home."

Jim laughed. "You and me both, sister." He ripped his hat again, turning to leave, but she called out after his first few steps.

"A word of advice, Handsome?"

He turned, squinting at her silhouette against the warm light of the saloon.

"Don't go home to her smellin' like me." She gestured down the sidewalk a ways. "Bath House is open til late."

Jim tipped his hat to her a final time as she pushed her way back through the saloon doors. "Much obliged."

***

Jim arrived at the train freshly bathed and smelling of pine and citrus. He scraped his boots off and felt oddly as though he should have flowers in his hands before shaking the feeling off and entering the parlor car.

Artie was half-reclined on the sofa in trousers and a clean white shirt, reading a book by lamplight and looking as though he'd had a bath of his own.

"Heya Artie."

Artie closed his book and sat up straight with a smile. "Well how'd you do?"

Jim grinned, making his way closer. "I'm fine. How's your neck?"

Artie's hand came up to rub at the back of his neck, fingers sliding beneath his undone collar. "Oh it's- it's better." He looked up as Jim came to a stop by the sofa.

"Still sore?"

"Little bit."

"Neck rub?"

Artie blinked, still smiling, and set his book down. "Absolutely, if you're offering."

"I'm offering."

"Well," Artie spread his hands. "Where do you want me?"

Jim curled a hand around the back of Artie's neck and squeezed gently at the soft, warm skin there. "Everywhere," he said, and planted a knee on the sofa.

Artie watched him, eyes warm and searching.

"Anywhere you want," Jim brought his other hand up and brushed a thumb over the cut on Artie's lower lip.

"What brought this on?" Artie asked, his own hands sliding into place under Jim's jacket, bracketing his waist.

"Earlier," Jim said quietly, fingers trailing down to rest at the base of Artie's throat. "At the saloon."

Artie's eyes clouded slightly, something behind them shuttering

"I wasn't thinking," Jim pressed on, hand kneading at Artie's neck. "I didn't realize," he admitted, searching Artie's gaze. "And I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to apologise for," Artie said, and Jim could feel his thumbs sweep in tandem over either side of his ribcage, a nervous stroke. "I've never asked for- I wouldn't."

"I know," Jim said, warmth blooming in his chest. He leaned forward and knocked their foreheads together gently. "I want you to. I want to give that to you." Artie's hands clamped tighter around his middle, and Jim closed his eyes. "I want you to give it to me." Jim slid his other knee onto the sofa, nudging it up between Artie's legs, until he was straddling Artie's tense thigh. He moved his hands to cup Artie's face and opened his eyes to meet Artie's gaze. "Nobody else."

"Nobody else," Artie echoed, and grabbed Jim by the thigh, drawing his leg up and over until he was straddling Artie's lap proper. "Alright." He swallowed, eyes flickering over Jim's face. "Nobody else, then."

Settling his weight across Artie's thighs, Jim brushed a thumb across his cheekbone, tracing the hot shadow of a coming bruise. “Thanks, Artie.”

Artie laughed, bright and happy and sudden, and pulled Jim in for a kiss. His lips were firm and insistent, a promise Jim could feel, sending flutters through his stomach and blood to his cheeks.

Artie pulled back after a while, petting across Jim’s back and shoulders. Jim pushed his fingers through Artie’s damp curls, tilting his head back and memorizing his smile. Artie let him, neck arched and throat bare as he looked up at Jim, open and happy. "Don't think you've distracted me from that neck rub you promised."

Grinning, Jim pressed a kiss against Artie's cheek, the one without the bruise, and stood with a slight groan. "Never. You got some oil we can use?"

"I've been working on just the thing!" Artie said brightly, accepting Jim's helping hand to stand. "It's in my lab, I'll go get it." He smacked a happy kiss on Jim's cheek and then went off towards the lab, tossing an absent, "Get rid of those boots!" over his shoulder.

Jim rolled his eyes but bent to tug them off as soon as he made it to Artie's quarters, cheeks straining with the smile he couldn't contain. He tossed his boots into a corner, one after the other, and shed his jacket. He was unbuttoning his cuffs to roll them up when Artie entered the room holding a jar of something pale golden in color.

"Just take it off," Artie waved a hand at him. "I don't know how well this comes out of clothes." He indicated the jar, the contents of which sloshed thickly.

"What is it exactly?" Jim asked, taking the jar and tilting it, watching the liquid advance lazily along the inside of the glass.

"Ah, well," Artie took the jar back and began undoing the buttons of his shirt with one hand, fingers somehow also expressing the same thing any other man would have needed a shrug for. "It's mostly just slippery. Although it doesn't taste too bad."

"Slippery, huh," Jim said, thoughtful, and studied his partner as they both removed their shirts.

The blush slowly creeping up Artie's chest told Jim everything he needed to know.

He bit his lip and tamped down a smile. "I see you've been hard at work coming up with things that'll be useful in the field."

"It could be useful in the field!" Artie insisted, and the golden goop made a round wet plopping sound as Artie wiggled the jar. "You could…" He stared at the jar. "Slip out of manacles or, or squeeze through prison bars. Stop someone chasing you down a, down a corridor-" he trailed off into an embarrassed snort as Jim began to laugh. "Oh hush." He pressed the jar to Jim's chest and turned away, shucking the rest of his clothes off and flopping face down on the bed. "It's for medicinal purposes," he said into a pillow. "Now rub away my aches and pains."

"Yes doctor," Jim replied, shoving his pants down his hips and stepping out of them. He studied the stuff once more as he unscrewed the lid. It smelled nutty, and a bit sweet, and when Jim dipped his fingers in to scoop some out he discovered it was, indeed, very slippery. He set the jar down on the bedside table and warmed the substance between his palms, oily and smooth.

Kneeling on the mattress, Jim swung a leg over Artie's prone body, straddling his lower back, settling against the soft, ample curve of his backside. He laid his palms gently down on Artie's back, cupping his shoulder blades and sweeping in and down before gliding them back up, over the tops of Artie's shoulders and then in to settle more firmly at his neck.

Artie groaned as Jim dug his thumbs in. The sound of it settled in the pit of Jim's stomach like an ember, hot and promising. He leaned into the massage, putting his weight behind each new searching press of his fingers and his palms, and Artie took it all, relaxing into his touches with an enviable ease.

Artie lay boneless and warm beneath him, unmoving except for the steady rise and fall of his shoulders with each even breath. Jim lightened the massage eventually, until he was simply touching, long, tender strokes across the expanse of Artie's back. He was half-mesmerized by the sight of his hands on Artie's skin, and the soft, contented sighs of his partner.

"Hey Artie," Jim spoke quietly into warmth between them.

"Hmm?"

"What'd you make this stuff for, really?"

Artie was quiet and still for a moment, and then he shifted beneath Jim, torso twisting, skin hot and soft under Jim’s hands, until their eyes could meet. His voice, when it came, was deep, and it shivered up Jim’s spine. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

Jim licked his lips and lifted his weight away from Artie, allowing him to turn over completely. His cock, full and heavy, slapped against his belly once he settled on his back, and Jim sighed, laying against him and ducking down, tucking his face into Artie’s neck as they rubbed together. Jim’s breath turned into a shuddering sigh, hot against the curve of Artie’s neck, and Artie’s hands clutched at Jim’s back, pulling him close as his hips bucked up.

“Fuck,” Jim whined, grinding down, chasing the sweet, shocking thrill of the pressure between them.

“Mmn,” Artie grunted, his hands sliding down to knead at Jim’s ass. “Got it in one.”

“You wanna do that?” Jim asked, hips jerking as Artie pressed him close. He leaned his head back, panting slightly as he gazed down at Artie’s flushed face. “With me?”

“I wanna do everything with you,” Artie told him, the side of one of his fingers trailing lightly down Jim’s crack, brushing his hole and making Jim squirm. Artie grinned at him. “Anything you want to try.”

“You like it?”

“I do,” Artie confessed, bringing one hand up to cup the back of Jim’s neck. “I like it, but I don’t need it.” Artie curled his hips up and pressed down with the hand low on his back, stilling Jim’s rocking. “I don’t need anything except you.”

Jim smiled at him, ducking down for a kiss. He tugged gently at Artie’s bottom lip, licking at it and tasting the faint coppery hint of the cut there, and leaned back once more. “Show me? What you like about it?”

Artie bit at his lip where Jim had worried it, sucking it between his teeth and smiling around it. His fingers brushed against Jim again, firmer this time, and Jim shivered, rocking down.

“You sure?”

“I’m always sure about you.”

There was a pause. A caught-breath of anticipation in the heat between them, and then Artie grabbed him and flipped them, until he was on top looking smugly down at Jim. “Okay,” he said, eyes glinting in the lamplight. He kissed Jim, hard and fast, and then flipped him again, belly down on the mattress, and before Jim could think to do anything about it Artie’s hands were on his ass and then something else, something hot and soft and wet, was there too, and Jim made a strangled, desperate sort of noise as Artie began to lick him.

“Hold still,” Artie ordered, words hot and wet against his hole. Jim squawked incredulously and fisted his hands in the bed covers, twisting them and trying not to let his hips buck. Artie was helping with that. The same hands that were holding him open were pressing him down, keeping him held firm to the mattress as Artie licked and sucked and kissed at him.

“Oh,” Jim breathed dumbly, eyes wide and breath shaky as Artie rearranged his world, focusing it with feverish intensity on the too-much not-enough overwhelming sensations, “Oh, Artie-”

“Mmm,” Artie responded, the vibrations adding yet another layer to the devastating assault.

Jim groaned and writhed, pushing his suddenly aching cock against the bed beneath him as Artie spread his cheeks apart even farther, pressing in and squirming his tongue in, inside Jim, wet and hot and unbelievable. Jim gasped and twisted, tangling his fingers in Artie’s hair, holding him, caught between pushing him closer and pulling him away so Jim to breathe, so Jim could rut against the covers like his hips were quivering to do. “Artie!”

“Mmm,” Artie gave him one last lick, and then a tender, breathy bite at the swell of his ass, palm giving the other side a satisfied swat. Jim felt the stubble on Artie’s jaw as he rested a cheek on his ass, the hand that had smacked him rubbing now, kneading. “Yes?”

Jim breathed and twisted his fingers, letting Artie’s curls slip between them as he thought. “Um,” he said eloquently. Artie’s laugh huffed out over Jim’s sweaty skin, and then he moved upwards, trailing biting kisses up Jim’s spine.

“Um?” he asked, laughter in his voice.

Jim huffed out his own laugh and turned under Artie, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him up. He paused to look at him, cheeks flushed, mouth and chin slick with spit and eyes shining. And then Jim kissed him, deep and probing, tongues sliding and pushing together.

He drew back for a moment, allowing them to catch their breath, and then wiped at Artie's mouth, scrubbing the spit away with a laugh. "Thanks," he told him, grinning.

"Learn anything useful?" Artie asked, eyes searching Jim's face with a care that belied his smile.

Jim searched Artie right back, the tingling, squirming pleasure still echoing through him, the slickness of his ass evident with every shift of his restless muscles. “I think so.”

“Good,” Artie declared, and then reached for the jar on the bedside table. “One more lesson, and then you’re gonna fuck me, if you’re up for it.”

***


End file.
